


the nights that follow

by days4daisy



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 05:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12764508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Khadgar is safe here. So is Lothar, so is Azeroth, as long as Khadgar has his say.





	the nights that follow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sundaydriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundaydriver/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, sundaydriver!

The Fel is everywhere.

Emerald glistens through cracks in tree bark and forms veins through the leaves that quilt the forest floor. These woods thrived for thousands of years before _they_  arrived at the demon's welcome. The forests are dying now, and Azeroth with it.

Green covers Khadgar's hands. It molds under his fingernails and blisters up his arms. It crawls like spiders under his skin and creeps up his neck. It fills his mouth, his nose, the smell of it is pungent, so much evil, how is he supposed to-

The demon is in his eyes. Bright, strong. Khadgar sees everything. Green, lush, and his for the taking. It is what Medivh was not strong enough to have, what he could never be. All can be Khadgar's if he reaches out and takes it. If he gives himself to the Fel, loses himself in it, if he-

Khadgar shoots awake. He gasps and clutches a frantic fist to his chest. His room is in a secluded wing of the castle. A mercy, because no one ever hears these night terrors. Khadgar searches his hands; nothing out of the ordinary. He drags fingers up his neck and touches his over-warm cheeks. Still nothing. Khadgar is himself, and everyone is safe.

Relieved, Khadgar presses his face to his hands. The Fel is not here, and if it were to climb the walls of Stormwind like summer weeds, Khadgar would stop it. He’s done it before, felt the cold of it curl like skeleton hands around his body, tasted the lure of pure evil. It did not take him. It will not take him, ever. He is not thinking about this, he isn’t dreaming about it, he isn’t afraid, and-

Someone is in his room.

Khadgar shoots an arm out, sigils on his fingertips. A hand clamps over his mouth, and he's pinned against his bed, thrashing and snarling.

A pause, and the blue dies from his fingers. Khadgar knows whose hand this is. He knows the smirk too, and the frustratingly curious gaze.

“You need magic that doesn’t require a mouth, spellchucker.” Lothar’s counsel, as always, is given with a snicker, but something more serious thickens the words. A heaviness has weighed on Lothar since the battle at the gate. Khadgar sees it in circles under his eyes and the unnatural pale to his face.

Lothar withdraws his hand, and Khadgar scowls with his freed mouth. His own bravado makes him forget the tremor lingering in his fingers. “And you need to be in a bed that isn’t mine,” Khadgar mutters.

Lothar laughs and pats Khadgar’s side. Twisting from the teasing touch, Khadgar finds himself nestled against Lothar’s hip. Lothar's weight tips his bed too easily. He's warm, where Khadgar feels cold.

“Whose bed would you suggest?” Lothar jokes. Khadgar stumbles on an answer, and Lothar laughs again.

Khadgar’s silence becomes a huff, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't glad for Lothar's company. Fear still sours his tongue, lingering in his half-forgotten dream. Lothar has no power against the worries that ail Khadgar, but he is company, a friend. Like a child, Khadgar does not want to be alone. 

Khadgar knows what evil he could have unleashed if he was not able to escape the Fel's grasp last time. He knows what he may still do if he falls to its influence. Khadgar can't afford this fear, though. Neither can Lothar. The weight of war's approach is enough burden for one man. Their foe is dangerous enough without fear working against them.

“If you prefer your bed to yourself, you’d be wise to keep a little quieter," Lothar says.

Khadgar should be embarrassed, but Lothar's solemness piques him. There is tension in his jaw and a pensive crease between a eyes. Khadgar sits up, and realizes Lothar’s hand was still on his side. Their interactions have grown more comfortable of late.

Khadgar's brow rises. “You heard me?”

“I was up,” Lothar says. His voice drags, and Khadgar doubts he has known much sleep himself these past few nights. Lothar's shoulders are tense like a drawn bow. His unease echoes the nerves pulsing in Khadgar's chest.

Khadgar looks away and mumbles, “Oh, well good.”

Lothar hops fully onto Khadgar's bed without permission, boots and all. Bewildered, Khadgar can only shift over to accommodate. His bed is not big enough for two, but somehow they fit, wedged side by side.

“So,” Lothar says, legs crossed at the ankles, “tell me, what does a mage dream about?”

Khadgar’s smile is small. “Not much different from any other man, I’d imagine.”

Lothar waits to speak until Khadgar's eyes have met his. “You’re stupid to turn down the position offered to you” he says, and he is serious.

Khadgar snorts. “You’d know stupid, wouldn't you?” He does not want to discuss this.

“Medivh knew what you were, what you could be-”

“Medivh is dead,” Khadgar mutters.

Lothar stays quiet, and Khadgar allows him his thoughts. He's done more than his fair share of musing on the events at Karazhan and after. Anger still warms Khadgar at the flippant advice of the Kirin Tor. Become the Guardian. As if, with war on the kingdom's doorstep, Khadgar should be any place but here!

Khadgar blows out an aggravated breath. “I belong here,” he says. "With the queen, and with you." _With you_ , his mind echoes. Khadgar's fingers twitch.

“My sister wants what is best for Azeroth,” Lothar says. “So should you.”

Khadgar chuckles. To think Anduin Lothar of all people would want the guardianship for him, given how their paths first crossed.

Funny, too, that in Lothar's company Khadgar finds himself so relaxed. The fear has drained from Khadgar completely, leaving a comfortable ease. Too comfortable, perhaps. In his right mind again, Khadgar can fully process his proximity to Lothar. Their bodies press close on Khadgar's small bed, Khadgar’s right leg to Lothar’s left, Khadgar’s bare foot to Lothar’s boot.

“How long have you not been sleeping?” Khadgar asks.

Lothar scoffs, edged with accusation and amusement. “Are you a healer now?”

“I serve you and the queen, it’s part of the deal,” Khadgar says.

Lothar meets his mirth with a smirk of his own. “I see. Which means, you’re at my command.”

“Well-”

“If I order you to do something, you’re required to do it.”

“That’s not-”

“Your actions have to be in my best interests.” Lothar’s eyes light up. “You have to do exactly what I say.”

Khadgar rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not how this works.”

“I mean,” Lothar turns on his side and props his head on a hand. His eyes sparkle with ominous mischief. “If you had accepted the role of Guardian, you could have commanded a certain power. It would have required my sister and I to heed your counsel. Now, you’re just an aide. _My_ aide, actually.”

“Are you still here for a reason?” Khadgar grumbles.

Lothar returns to his back, hands tucked behind his head. He grins but does not keep up his mocking as he normally would. “I can’t sleep,” he says. “You can’t either.” He peers up at Khadgar’s bemused expression. “Would you rather I leave?”

“No,” Khadgar says, too quickly. Clearing his throat, he glances at his window, a slim part over a desk littered with books and parchment. Winter's frost has begun to gather along the corners of the glass.

It won’t be like this if he dons the Guardian’s robes. Khadgar thinks of Medivh and chews a lip. “I keep...seeing the Fel.”

“You're stronger than the Fel,” Lothar says.

He’s so certain, so sure. Khadgar’s stomach drops like a cliff. “Medivh should have been stronger than the Fel,” he protests quietly.

Lothar grabs his hand. “You are _not_ Medivh,” he says, like this isn’t the thing Khadgar is most afraid of.

Khadgar absorbs the easy wind of their fingers. Lothar's grip is firm and calloused, and Khadgar's pulse stutters, caught off guard. Has Lothar ever taken his hand like this? Cautious, Khadgar's thumb traces Lothar's wrist. Lothar shows no visible reaction, but he does not pull his hand away.

“What do you dream of?” Khadgar asks.

“Llane,” Lothar admits, much easier than Khadgar expects, “and Cal. What I could have done to save them.” Lothar is usually more guarded than this, and Khadgar wonders if a part of him needs this. To speak, to confide.

This is Khadgar's role now, after all. Confidant to the royal house. Advisor and protector. He looks at his own hand absorbed in Lothar's. A strange light-headedness touches him.

Khadgar frowns at him. “What could you have done that you didn't already do?”

“That’s the problem.” Lothar shakes his head bitterly. “I don’t know. Our strategy. Our timing. A man can always be faster or smarter. I want to know what could have been done. I've tried to know, but I cannot see."

Khadgar hears himself in Lothar. The fear of not knowing, the inability to prepare. They both want proof that they have become better than they were, that dangers revisited will no longer be a threat. There is no proof before them, only each other.

Lothar’s eyes glint, catching the moon's silver. Khadgar has his attention more completely than ever, even at their first meeting, when Lothar thought him an enemy. Warmth blisters under Khadgar's skin. What he wants startles him, and his tongue tastes like sand.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to leave?” Lothar asks. He's already asked this question, but it sounds different now. More serious, with greater intent behind it.

Khadgar shakes his head. He wants to speak, but he finds his throat too tight for sound.

Lothar's hair sweeps Khadgar's shirt as he moves up the bed. Khadgar wonders if he should claim offense at Lothar presuming anything about him. Instead, his hands frame Lothar's waist, welcoming him, guiding him close.

Lothar’s expression changes to something odd and soft. He hooks thumb and forefinger on Khadgar’s chin. Khadgar cocks his head higher, daring, and Lothar’s smile turns sharp.

His kiss should be strange, but Khadgar feels like he’s always known it. It is deeper than a first kiss should be, nodded pressure and a taste of protection. Khadgar catches himself sighing, fingers knotted in Lothar’s clothes. He marvels at the body beneath, how strong it is, how sure. How long has Lothar desired this? Khadgar gasps beneath Lothar at the thrill; a rush of feeling shivers up his spine.

“You need magic without words,” Lothar tells him, low and sweet. Khadgar feels the words more than he hears them, and he chases after them stubbornly. Lothar's smile is stolen by his mouth, but he manages to tease, “You’re far too easy to shut up, my spellchucker.”

 _My_ , Khadgar's mind echoes. His heart thunders in his chest.

“ _Sha’zarol_ ,” Khadgar murmurs. He reads Lothar’s surprise at the single finger dragged down his tunic. Easily, the fabric splits in half. Khadgar grins, his gaze a brilliant blue. “Am I?” he asks. His fingers spark their last against  Lothar's chest. Firm, warm, and his to touch. Khadgar's fingers roam, and his stomach tightens with shocked, sudden want.

He _is_ too easy to shut up, Khadgar realizes, when he’s on his back moments later. Lothar's eyes are darker with wants of his own. Their legs twine together, and Khadgar's body bridges in eager answer.

Lothar steals Khadgar's mouth, fingers splayed on his face, and Khadgar feels their world change. Who they are, what they are, what they can be, what they must do. Everything changes.

But Khadgar is still safe here, he knows. So is Lothar, so is Azeroth, as long as Khadgar has his say.

*The End*


End file.
